


i'm not fine, i'm caught between the lines that i don't see

by immortalcockroach (juggyjones)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Callback, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, One Shot, Post-Canon, implied PTSD, season 7 spec, soft bellarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juggyjones/pseuds/immortalcockroach
Summary: Is there a way to win? Is it a pointless game, and they lose the moment they decide to play? Wouldn’t it be easier to fall back, be a pawn, at mercy of others’ will?‘I couldn’t save her,’ he whimpers. His lips touch her warm skin, and it’s wet with his tears. ‘I couldn’t save anyone.’He shatters, but she doesn’t let him scatter the pieces.---or, bellamy seeks clarke's comfort when octavia disappears.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 70





	i'm not fine, i'm caught between the lines that i don't see

**Author's Note:**

> thematic sequel to _[hold me while we wait for the world to end](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219101)_ , aka if you want to get more in the angst mood of this fic, that one-shot is a really good way to do so. it basically just gives more background to bellamy's mental state in this fic, so they go well when read together.
> 
> this was requested by a lovely anon on tumblr, and the request resonated deep within my desire to write bellarke, hence the emotion-packed thing you're about to read.
> 
> title from _bleach_ by call me karizma.

Bellamy’s world has shattered.

He is walking to Sanctum, Echo and Gabriel following his trail carrying the unconscious mystery girl on a makeshift stretcher. Bellamy tried doing it, but his hands gave in.

He apologized, only it didn’t mean much. Echo tried talking to him yet he couldn’t hear a thing. He felt her cold fingers on his cheek, as if through a glass layer. All he could hear was the chipper of crickets, birds chirping, the forest living on as if everything was still the same.

He screamed her name into the empty air, to no avail. There was no one to hear it.

‘She’s gone,’ Gabriel said.

Bellamy didn’t know if that meant missing or dead. He didn’t want to ask.

‘We’re going back to Sanctum, _now_ ,’ he instructed, moments after the meaning of Gabriel’s words had dawned on him. ‘I need to talk to someone.’

Again, Echo called his name, but he couldn’t. Eventually, she fell quiet, and they walked in silence.

They have been walking in silence for hours now, stopping for a water break every now and then. Bellamy keeps to himself, ahead of the two. His head is spinning a little and there is a buzz within his mind that he can’t get rid of, and the prickling behind his eyes isn’t letting him have peace, either. There’s little left of his nails. He turns at every sound that isn’t a human voice, for nothing to be there.

He doesn’t call out her name anymore. He knows she isn’t here.

On the stretcher, the mystery girl is still out cold. Echo suggests they try waking her up again, and Gabriel counters, saying he wants to do it in a more controlled environment. The Old Man gives Bellamy a side-eye.

It couldn’t have been Bellamy’s fault if he injured her. When he couldn’t find Octavia, he walked back inside and grabbed the girl by the shoulders, shaking her violently in an effort to wake her up. Gabriel and Echo tried stopping him—‘You’re going to cause irreparable damage to her brain, we don’t know what she’s been through!’—yet he didn’t. Not until they physically dragged him away and Gabriel clocked him in the jaw.

‘It’s about my _sister_ ,’ Bellamy hissed.

Gabriel held an arm across Bellamy’s chest, pushing him outside the tent. The face of a stoic was only slightly disrupted, his teeth showing and his brows furrowed – eyes stern, but kind, and Bellamy hated that he was calm enough to notice that.

‘If you want to find your sister,’ Gabriel said in a low voice, ‘you have to make sure the girl is able to wake up.’

‘That’s what I was trying to do!’

Bellamy pushed the arm off his chest and took a step back. His eyes fell onto the entrance into the tent, but he couldn’t see anything. Echo didn’t come out, to his defense, and he couldn’t help but feel hurt.

He couldn’t think straight. There was only one thing on his mind.

Gabriel followed Bellamy’s eyes, and when he looked back at the curly-haired man, his eyes were softer again, brows relaxed. ‘You could’ve killed her, Bellamy. The information she has is too valuable for us to handle the whole thing so carelessly.’

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, gripping it when his fingers got tangled in the greasy curls.

‘She has my _sister_.’ His voice broke at the last word.

Eventually, Gabriel managed to calm him down, and now he’s warning him not to make it messy again. It’s getting dark and they’re back on their way, less than a quarter of an hour away from Sanctum.

Now that Octavia is gone, Bellamy feels as if his entire world has shifted. They haven’t been able to reach anyone over the comms, meaning that once they arrive at Sanctum, where everyone is still recovering from the battle against the Primes, they will have to deliver the news.

It’s going to be fun. _‘Hey everyone, we activated the Anomaly, then this psycho appeared out of thin air, mumbled some shit and stabbed Octavia, who then disappeared, and the psycho fell into a coma.’_

Almost, _almost_ , it makes Bellamy crack a smile. The kind that’s more sad, than anything else. He can’t believe how twisted this is, and how it’s been getting worse since the beginning.

They’re let into Sanctum. Gabriel is the one who talks to the guards. They have questions about the girl and he tells them it’s not their place to ask. Echo says nothing. The guards are off and they’re back on their way, Bellamy six feet ahead.

He’s way too distressed to pay attention to what’s happening around him. He can feel his heart beating inside his chest, his fingers, his ears, behind his eyes, _everywhere_. It’s like a constant reminder of time moving, and Octavia being gone for longer, and them not having a clue as to what’s happening. His vision is getting hazy and his breath irregular, but he controls it. He keeps it down. He ignores the fact that his fingers are getting cold.

He pushes it all down, and instead searches the premises as they approach the heart of Sanctum.

The place is empty, almost. There are guns and bullet holes and bullet jackets, and blood where dead bodies were. His stomach churns at the sight, and he realises he hasn’t eaten since early this morning.

Whatever hope he has, he feels it slipping through his fingers.

‘Go talk to Eric Jackson,’ he instructs Gabriel, once he gathers enough strength and focus to think clear. ‘He’ll know best how to help out with the…the girl.’

‘All right. As soon as there’s any change, you’ll be the first to know.’

Gabriel nods to Echo, who doesn’t budge. The girl has been put on the ground as they discuss what to do, and it’s kind of a disgusting sight for Bellamy. She doesn’t look like an assassin at all, yet…

Echo calls for his attention. ‘Don’t make any plans until I’ve joined you guys.’

_She doesn’t understand_ , he realises, and somehow, he isn’t surprised. He looks at over and he can barely discern her expression in the late evening light, as the suns have begun to set. It’s certainty, almost, but there’s something off about it. Something he can’t place his finger on, but it’s bothering him.

He shakes his head in response, eyes locked on hers. ‘I’m not going to talk to them. You go with Gabriel, make sure he and Jackson are all set. Wait for me at Raven’s. You can fill them in on what happened.’

‘And what are you about to do?’

‘There’s someone else I need to talk to first.’

Echo parts her lips, but before she can say anything, Gabriel tells her they need to get moving before people start asking questions. Bellamy looks away from the two; the image of confusion turning into bitter betrayal in Echo’s eyes is something he can’t deal with at the moment.

He leaves before they do. If Echo has any questions, concerns, or complaints, she can present them to him at a later date.

In the heart of Sanctum, his eyes can’t find what they’re looking for. It’s difficult to even concentrate – his legs are moving, arms swinging at a normal pace, breath stable enough to not raise a single concern; yet he can hardly see what’s right in front of him. Instead, he sees blood, and a dagger, and feels the weight of Octavia’s limp body in his empty hands. He hears her gasp and he hears the dagger ripping through the cloth, then the skin, then the muscle—

Someone whistles not far from him, high-pitched enough to get him out of his daze. Step by step, he makes it to the palace, and knocks on it.

People died here. He can smell the blood. He can feel the chaos burning, and he knows he should be running as far away from this place as possible. He’s had enough death; enough violence to last him until the end of his days.

Eyes flutter. There is the white noise, back in his ears, and he feels the weight on his arm resting against the stone wall become heavier.

If he closes his eyes…maybe he’ll wake up in a better place.

‘Bellamy?’

A better place would be nice.

‘Shit, Bellamy, are you okay?’

Out of nowhere, there are hands on his face, and they’re so warm they feel like safety. His eyes are lazy, and it takes them a while to move, and by the time they find the face in front of him, the person has already begun pulling him into the palace.

She talks, they walk, he barely stands on his feet. The couch is comfortable and so is the glass of water she brings. He can’t answer one of her many questions; she stops asking them.

They sit in silence.

Bellamy’s chest heaves in a slow beat, fingers tingling with tiny needles. Some time passes before he becomes aware of the glass in his hand, or the way the glass feels cold beneath his fingertips. He becomes aware of the soft, brown light coming from candles around him; it’s non-intrusive, almost welcoming. All he can hear is his own heartbeat. It’s deafening.

He sips on the water and keeps his eyes on his lap. There is nothing on his mind.

Nothing.

For the first time in god knows how long.

There is a feeling of warmth, yet it feels odd; it reminds him of when he was a kid, freezing, and his mom would knit him a sweater and he’d put it on. It’s a feeling too particular to put into words, or let him understand why he’s feeling it right now.

‘Feeling better?’

The voice is raspy, loaded with emotion. Next to him, Clarke is sitting with a hand on his back, rubbing it in circles, slowly. He looks over, because he can’t respond, and he sees her.

She looks tired. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, messy as it has been for as long as he’s known her. There’s a concerned smile playing in the corners of her lips, but she looks tired. The light makes the bags under her eyes bigger, her skin a sickly pale colour. She doesn’t look okay.

Neither does he.

Bellamy shakes his head. The past flashes before his eyes, and for a moment, he backs away. He doesn’t know why he came here. They were at odds not too long before, so many times—

Her hand falls from his back and she pulls back into her shell, making some space between them on the couch.

An apology passes over his lips. ‘There’s just... It’s not over, Clarke. We’re not safe.’

‘What do you mean?’

Her voice is calm and collected but he can hear the exasperation in it because he feels it, too.

Bellamy buries his head in his hands. He doesn’t cry–he doesn’t feel like he has the energy to–and he doesn’t say anything, either. Clarke’s presence is too big for him not to be aware of at any moment, and he revels in it. For a moment, he pretends the circumstances are different, and they’re back on Earth, in that forest, and he’s asking her to run away with him. They’re in Arkadia, and he’s writing her name on that list.

When will the universe stop torturing them?

‘What happened?’

So he tells her. He tells her everything as if it happened to someone else, not him. It’s distanced, it's objective, and it’s emotionless.

If he will feel anything even a little stronger, he is going to break. He'll break and he’ll shatter and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to pick himself back up.

By the end, the tremble of his body is cold to the core of his heart. There’s a great distance between Clarke’s hand and his back, even though they’re touching. The room is big and massive and enormous and he feels small, minuscule, invaluable.

‘Bellamy—’

_Who am I if can’t even protect my own sister?_

Clarke pulls him into a hug. He feels her smell, the fresh earthly scent mixed with the otherness of the palace, and he feels her hair, soft against his cheeks, and he feels the warmth of her arms around his torso, and he feels his own breath off her neck, and he feels the room getting back to the normal size, and he feels the tightness around his head and neck and heart and he…he just _feels_.

Clarke’s fingers in his hair, tugging gently. She’s going through it with care and affection, and he melts into her. ‘I've got you, Bellamy’ he hears her whisper into the crown of his head. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘Who am I if I can’t even protect my own sister?’

Clarke pulls him closer and he breaks; he _shatters._

Time ceases to exist. He’s a chaos of tears and sobs and cries and he holds on to Clarke for dear life. There are thoughts, too many to count, yet he can’t comprehend a single one. He gets warm, and sweaty, and Clarke takes off his jacket, and she doesn’t let go of him. He cries for what feels like hours, or seconds, or another eternity.

Bellamy thinks of the Ark, and how he betrayed his mom’s trust, and he lost everything. He thinks of the Earth and all the battles they fought, and how he lost himself more than once, and how it was Clarke who kept him sane. He remembers when he lost Octavia, more than once, and how he somehow managed to get her back – but it wasn’t the same. It kept getting worse and worse, until he thought they were past the point of forgiveness. They’d travelled through space and planets and he kept losing the people he cares about, betraying their trust, hurting them when everything he does feels like a mistake.

Is there a way to win? Is it a pointless game, and they lose the moment they decide to play? Wouldn’t it be easier to fall back, be a pawn, at mercy of others’ will?

‘I couldn’t save her,’ he whimpers. His lips touch her warm skin, and it’s wet with his tears. ‘I couldn’t save anyone.’

He shatters, but she doesn’t let him scatter the pieces.

‘You tried to save everyone,’ Clarke says, quietly. ‘You did what you thought was the best choice. We both did.’

‘It wasn’t enough.’

‘I know.’ Clarke clears her throat. He feels her shoulders tremble a little. ‘But we did all we could.’

He understands her words, and it makes him calm down a little. She isn’t sugarcoating things, lulling him into a lie that everything they did was right and that everything will be okay. That isn’t how life works, and he has accepted that many times before.

They might never get their peace. At this point, he’s questioning if they even deserve it.

Bellamy gathers enough strength to pick himself up, as best as he can. When they part, his face is smeared in salty tears and the skin beneath his eyes is throbbing a little, same with his temples. His lips are cold, now that the heat of Clarke’s neck against them is gone. He can still feel the stiff material of Clarke’s shirt on his fingertips, and her body underneath it. Rationally, he knows he shouldn’t be holding on to her like this – rationality be damned, buried deep within the confines of his mind.

His eyes look up, and he finds Clarke gazing into the distance. Her face is illuminated by the candlelight, softening her sharp edges. It gives her a delicate, almost otherworldly glow; an angel of death. He can see her cheeks glistening, mirroring his own, and her lower lip trembles with barely-audible breaths passing over it. He can’t tell if it’s her complexion, or just who she is, but she looks older than the universe, worn out by the burdens she keeps on carrying.

They are a mirror image of one another.

‘When will be able to stop fighting?’

He doesn’t remember which one of them asks the question. The silence that encompasses the two of them is heavy, loaded with emotion, as it always is – yet Bellamy finds comfort in it.

He is too worn out for hope; too much time wasted believing the universe could be kind to them. She understands this feeling in a way nobody else does.

When Bellamy’s hand reaches for hers, he doesn’t question it. It’s warm, small, and fits right into his.

Clarke inhales, sharply. ‘We’re going to figure out a way to find Octavia. When the girl wakes up, we’ll get some answers. Gabriel’s knowledge about the Anomaly will help. We’ll get her back, one way or another.’

_We’re not going to talk about the big picture_ , he hears her say in his mind, and he agrees to put it aside – for now.

She squeezes his hand and he returns the gesture. ‘I know.’

Neither of them makes false promises. Instead, they start to develop a plan to ensure Octavia’s return, if possible, and further investigation into the Anomaly – because now, it is a threat. They make food as they do this, both of them moving around the kitchen in the basement. Bellamy comes back to life a little, smiling every now and then, and Clarke seems to relax as he does. They work well together – it’s almost as if nothing has changed.

They’re at the camp again, taking care of the kids from the sky, and they’re working together to ensure their survival.

Nothing that happened in-between now and then matters. All of the squabbles, fights, none of it. She is still the same person he risked his sister’s life for, when they thought there was no way of Octavia losing the villainous side of her.

They sit down, for food, each of them having lasagna on their plate. Clarke says she learned the recipe from Josephine’s memories, and it surprisingly doesn’t taste like the devil had a hand in it.

Not long into having settled down at the table, taking a small break from everything that is going on, Bellamy’s thoughts begin to spiral again.

‘What has the lasagna ever done to you?’ The soft smile on the blonde’s face walls when Bellamy doesn’t take his eyes off his plate. ‘What’s wrong?’

_Everything_ , Bellamy thinks. _I’m sitting here, eating lasagna, chatting with Clarke, and Octavia is—_

The fork falls out of his grip. The sound makes both of them flinch, and it’s the thing that gets Bellamy out of his daze. He clears his throat, still looking at the pale brown food in front of him. It looks and tastes delicious, but he’s too many worlds away to be able to enjoy it.

‘Everything happens so fast to us,’ he says, quietly. The fork moves around the lasagna, but he doesn’t pick any of it up. ‘From the moment we landed on the ground, back on Earth, things haven’t stopped happening. There’s periods when they slow down, but they never _stop_. We never get to rest.’

He thinks she’ll say something, but she doesn’t. Her fork clinks against her plate, too, and the silence that befalls them is a different kind of heavy.

‘It’s always fighting. It’s always impossible decisions, people we love getting hurt and then us getting the blame for not doing enough, or doing the wrong thing. No matter what we do, it’s always wrong. It’s always bad. And we can’t—we can’t win. It changes us, the whole thing, but it doesn’t give us time to adapt to what’s happening. We’re never ready for what’s coming. It’s always… I don’t know. I feel like I keep making the wrong choice, every single time.’

Bellamy swallows the rest of his thoughts because, when he looks at Clarke, he sees her with silent tears rolling down her cheeks and eyes piercing directly into his.

It’s too much, almost. He opens his mouth to say something but there’s _nothing_ he could say to make things better. The way she feels is the same as him, and he sees it behind the tears and behind the blues – he sees the same agony, the same thoughts that eat him up from the inside.

It anchors him into the ground.

‘There’s never a right choice,’ Clarke says quietly.

‘Clarke… I didn’t mean to—’

‘No, you’re right.’ She sniffles; runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head. ‘You’re right. No matter what we do, people get hurt. What’s the alternative?’

For a heartbeat, Bellamy is silent. ‘I don’t know. I can’t think right now.’

‘People trust us, Bellamy. They believe we can help them.’

‘But we can’t.’

‘Is that what you really think? Do you think there’s someone else who is ready to do whatever it takes to save our people?’

Hands on the table, Bellamy leans back in his chair. The white noise in his ears is back, and his chest heaves with difficulty, and a sigh escapes him. ‘I’m tired, Clarke. I’m tired of having to be the one to risk losing everything.’

‘Do you want peace? Is that it? To live on your own, far away from anything happening, because you’re tired of being the person your people look up to?’

The answer is instantaneous. ‘Yes.’ _She doesn’t even know how right she is_ – yet deep down, he knows it’s not true. He knows she’s longing for the exact same thing.

He doesn’t know who he pities more – himself, who is weak and miserable at the idea of his life remaining the same, or Clarke, who is in denial.

‘Is that what Octavia would’ve wanted for you?’

‘You’ve got no right—’

‘No, Bellamy, listen. You’re not a quitter. You’re not someone who can just fall back and let people fight this shit on their own. Yes, we’ve made a few mistakes, a few choices that some can’t forgive us for, but we did it for a reason. Are we here, alive?'

_Not all of us_ , is what he almost says, but he stops himself at the right moment. Abby is one of those they didn't manage to save.

'Are we still breathing?’ 

Clarke gives him a pointed, aching look, and he knows what she means. It was centuries ago when he said it, but it’s a moment ingrained in his memory – and hers, it seems.

They’re still breathing – there’s still hope.

Bellamy rises from his chair. ‘I need some air.’

‘I’m coming with.’

‘Clarke—’

‘It’s not up for debate.’ Her voice is stern and he knows this is a battle he can’t win.

They put the food in the fridge and place all the plates and cutlery into the sink, all in silence. When they get their jackets, they’re silent, too, and they don’t talk once they’re out of the palace, either.

Bellamy’s chest is heavy. There are a million thoughts going through his head and he is trying to push away the concern for Octavia—all it’s doing is making him nauseous—and put his erratic mind back in place. Soon enough, they are out of the central area, and things get a little quieter. There are crickets chirping, and he can hear the sounds from the woods, and it’s yet another stark reminder of days buried in the past. Clarke is still by his side, as quiet as he is. Their feet rumbling through the grass and fallen leaves make a rhythmic sound, almost mesmerising – like a clock, almost.

A clock that’s counting down until the next bad thing.

Realistically, Bellamy knows that time both is and isn’t of the essence in this particular situation. Gabriel has spent decades studying the Anomaly, yet he has no explanation for what just happened. He’d never even seen someone come back from it prior to Octavia, mere days ago. The girl from the Anomaly is asleep and once she’s awake, or there’s been changes to her status, Gabriel will let him know. Bellamy is certain he’ll know where to find him, more than possibly anyone else in Sanctum. He doesn’t fully understand the relationship between him and Josephine, but he knows that everything that’s happened since Josephine took over Clarke’s body gave him enough information to know where Bellamy would go in times like these.

It’s something not even Bellamy himself could properly explain, or even understand. The way he is drawn to Clarke is different from anything else he’s experienced in life.

He feels a little calmer now. Their footsteps still associate with a clock, but there’s nothing he can do. There’s no time for rash decisions, and they pretty much already know what the next steps are going to be, and how they are going to go about this whole situation.

Bellamy listens to Clarke breathing. It’s mesmerising, almost, in sync with every two steps she takes. His steps are a little smaller than usual, but hers are always bigger than average, and the way their steps go together brings back some warmth into his heart. Their hands are in their pockets, but they bump elbows from time to time, and when they do, it reminds Bellamy he’s not alone in all this. He’s aware of her presence in a way that he usually isn’t – it’s therapeutic. Relaxing.

His anxiety has eased its grip on him. The fresh air and the walk have been helping silence the pandemonium inside his mind, but he knows it wouldn’t have worked as well if Clarke wasn’t by his side.

When he looks over at her, her face is in a deep state of thought. He can see it in the crinkles of her eyes and above her forehead as she looks into the distance, nowhere in particular; he sees it in the slight purse of her lips and one side of her lips slightly tugged upwards; it’s in her shoulders high and closer to her neck, and her chest rising and falling faster than it usually does.

Bellamy’s heart lies easier now.

‘You were right, Clarke. I’m not tired of helping people,’ he begins. ‘I’m tired of them not realising how difficult it is. I’m tired of putting the people I love at risk, and losing them. I’m tired of having to think not only for myself, but for everyone else, but I can’t help it. You were right – it’s who I am. And you know better than everyone how heavy it can get sometimes.’

‘When you feel like there’s nothing you can do.’ She looks at him and her face is open for him to read; the pain, the anger, the love – all of it. ‘Like you have chains that are anchoring you to the ground and you watch the world go up in flames.’

All he can give in return is a nod. They continue walking in silence and that’s agreement enough; sometimes saying nothing bears more weight than any words could.

‘Bellamy?’

‘Hm?’

They come to a halt near one of the main entrances into Sanctum, right where there is a pathway into the forest. A breeze is coming through the fence, and it sways the blonde strands framing Clarke’s face. She’s smiling; it’s kind and hopeful, something he hasn’t seen on her in a while.

The silver light sheds some of the years of burdens that have taken a toll on her, and she looks her age. She looks what she would’ve looked like if she had a normal life.

This, right there, is what warms Bellamy’s chest with a little hope that maybe they can get their peace, after all.

‘We’re going to get her back.’

At last, a smile graces Bellamy's face.

**Author's Note:**

> there you go! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. this was actually only supposed to be the first half of the fic, but somehow it felt more whole on its own that it would've if i kept on writing. however, if you guys are interested, or if i end up feeling that way, i might write the second half, too, and just put it as a separate chapter. the plan was for it to explore clarke's feelings of loneliness and alienation from her people (specifically the squad from the ring).
> 
> until then, if you want to request a fic, just send me an ask on tumblr ([bellarkesgodson](https://bellarkesgodson.tumblr.com/)) or comment below.


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